


A Study in Red

by vacantstars



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacantstars/pseuds/vacantstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Enjolras first met Combeferre when they were children- around five years old, to be exact. They were in the same class and sat next to each other, but never had much of a conversation until their teacher asked the class to draw what they wanted to be when they grew up.</i>
</p><p>A look at the Chief and the Guide through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarlyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarlyne/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Sarlyne! I hope you enjoy this.

Enjolras first met Combeferre when they were children- around five years old, to be exact. They were in the same class and sat next to each other, but never had much of a conversation until their teacher asked the class to draw what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Out of curiosity, Enjolras peered over Combeferre’s shoulder to see if he could draw some inspiration from whatever it was he was doing. There was nothing on the other boy’s paper except a smiley face.

“You wanna be happy face?” Enjolras asked.

“Happy,” Combeferre corrected. “I just want to be happy and with my mom.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, looking back down at his own paper. It was still blank.

“What about you?”

“I’unno.” A shrug. “Maybe president?”

“President?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras replied, suddenly sounding rather passionate for a five year-old. “‘Cause someone’s gotta fix all the bad stuff out there. And my mom says that if you want something right, you gots to do it yourself.”

“Well, I’d vote for you.” Combeferre smiled. “You’re gonna be a great president some day, I bet.”

They became best friends after that.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the following year that they met Courfeyrac. Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting together at recess, talking rather than playing kickball with the other children. Besides, Enjolras was all but useless when it came to sports. Besides, he was too busy complaining to his friend to focus on the game.

“My mom’s getting married again next Saturday,” Enjolras said, playing with the straw of his juice box as he spoke. “To the guy she’s been dating for a while. It’s gonna be a quiet thing because they don’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”

“I thought you liked him?” Combeferre asked. “Better than your dad, at least.”

“Yeah, but he has a daughter.” Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a sister. Or a brother.”

“I get along with my sisters,” Combeferre offered. “Is she older or younger than us?”

“Younger,” Enjolras said. “I think she’s four.”

“That’s not so bad,” Combeferre replied. “Maybe you’ll end up getting along really well.”

“Maybe.” Enjolras sighed, putting his juice box on the bench next him. “I just don’t get her. She’s weird. Anyway...do you wanna come to the party thing next Saturday? It’s at my house.”

“Sure.” Combeferre smiled.

Enjolras was about to say something when suddenly, a red, rubber ball hit him in the back of the head. It didn’t hurt too badly, but Enjolras was far too annoyed with whomever kicked it at him to care about the pain. Combeferre asked if he was alright just as a boy with messy brown curls came running over. He had the audacity to look apologetic, at least.

“Sorry!” the boy said sheepishly, picking the ball up off the ground. “My bad. I wasn’t aiming at you, promise.”

“That hurt.” Enjolras glared.

“I said I was sorry...”

“It was an accident,” Combeferre said, casting a sideways glance at Enjolras. “Right?”

“Yeah! It was an accident.” The boy threw the ball back on the field and sat on Enjolras’ other side. “My name’s Courfeyrac. What’s yours?”

“Combeferre.”

“Enjolras.”

It didn’t take very long for Enjolras to warm up to Courfeyrac after they began talking about their favorite soccer teams. The next day, he was sitting with Enjolras and Combeferre at lunch, and by the end of the week, Enjolras told his mother that he’d made another friend at school.

* * *

 

“I’ve never met someone who’s such a heavy sleeper,” Courfeyrac said. Enjolras was still fast asleep on the floor in a nest of blankets between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and didn’t show any signs of getting up in the near future. “Is he always like this?”

“Pretty much.” Combeferre nodded. “There’s a reason that he’s a zombie in the mornings, if you haven’t noticed.”

Two days before the end of the summer, Courfeyrac declared that the three of them should have a “super special best friends forever” sleepover at his house. They would be going into middle school in a few days, after all, so it was the perfect time for that sort of thing. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Enjolras to be impossible to wake up.”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said loudly. “Enjolras!”

Nothing.

Courfeyrac poked his arm.

No signs of life.

“Ferre, help me out here,” Courfeyrac pleaded.

“You should let him sleep,” Combeferre replied, cleaning his glasses with his shirt. “He’ll sleep through just about anything, anyway.”

“Not an option,” Courfeyrac said resolutely. “My mom made pancakes. The best pancakes, Ferre. It is my solemn duty as his friend to wake him up before they go cold.”

Combeferre sighed, amused. “I wish you luck, then.”

Sensing that desperate times called for desperate measures, Courfeyrac decided that on his course of action. He rolled on top of Enjolras, whom was still dead to the world. Courfeyrac frowned- he thought that would work for sure. Then, he had another idea.

“Napoleon!”

That got Enjolras’ attention. He shot bolt upright with Courfeyrac still on top of him, his eyes bright with what was either righteous fury or annoyance at the mention of He Who Must Not Be Named- probably a combination of both, knowing Enjolras.

“C-Courfeyrac!” Enjolras sputtered, turning almost as red as the t-shirt he was wearing. “Get off of me!”

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Courfeyrac grinned and got off of the blond. “Hey, Ferre, I got him up!”

“I see that,” Combeferre said, trying not to sound amused as he put his glasses on. “Good morning, Enjolras.”

Enjolras was still fuming, although his rage seemed to be directed at Courfeyrac. “Was that necessary?”

“Totally and completely.” Courfeyrac was still grinning. “My mom made pancakes. You haven’t lived until you’ve had my mom’s pancakes.”

Enjolras glared and Combeferre shook his head, amused at the entire situation.

* * *

 

To say that Combeferre was never attractive would be inaccurate. As a kid, however, he’d been a bit awkward, complete with limbs that felt too long for his body, glasses, and a tall, lanky build. He never really thought too much about his appearance, but he did manage to look put together every day.

And then came puberty.

Enjolras had never really noticed his best friend like that until they were in gym class and Combeferre was dressed in shorts and a form-fitting t-shirt.

Suddenly, he noticed the other boy’s broad shoulders and lack of a baby face. His limbs seemed to fit his body now thanks to his growth spurt, and suddenly, glasses seemed like the most attractive things in the world. Enjolras didn’t even realize that he was staring until Courfeyrac almost nailed him in the head with a basketball.

“Yo, Earth to Enjolras, come in,” Courfeyrac said, frowning. “Are you okay?”

Enjolras shook his head to snap himself out of it. “Yeah, I...yeah, I’m fine.”

Suddenly, Enjolras realized why he’d never noticed girls before.

* * *

 

As luck would have it, the three of them ended up going to the same university together. Originally, Combeferre and Enjolras were going to room with each other, but then Courfeyrac suggested going random so that they could meet new people. Combeferre thought that was a good idea, so they ended up with roommates they’d never met before.

Combeferre had ended up with a poet named Jean “Jehan” Prouvaire, a poet whom looked like he got dressed in the dark and knew more about the art of flower arranging than anyone on campus. That did not mean, however, that he was incapable of kicking ass with a daisy braided into his hair.

Enjolras, on the other hand, had ended up with a cynical, borderline alcoholic art student named Grantaire. The man apparently didn’t believe in anything, or so he said. He often criticized Enjolras’ idealism with his skepticism, pointing out all the flaws in his arguments and/or disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing.

One night, after a particularly bad fight with Grantaire, Enjolras stormed into Combeferre’s room without knocking and plopped down on his bed. He breathed deeply into the pillow in lieu of screaming, since Jehan was taking a nap on the top bunk.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre guessed, without even looking up from his chemistry book. Enjolras nodded.

“He’s infuriating,” Enjolras grumbled into the pillow. Luckily, Combeferre was fluent in muffle by now.

“Can I ask what he did now?” Combeferre turned his chair so that he was facing Enjolras.

“I was practicing my speech for the rally on Saturday when he just kept butting in with comments and what he considered to be corrections. I got frustrated after a while and we started arguing.” Enjolras took his face out of the pillow and tried to keep his tone calm. Combeferre wasn’t the one he was angry with, after all. “At first it was on the nature of man, but then it started getting personal and we both said things we shouldn’t have.”

“You should apologize once you’ve both calmed down,” Combeferre said. “Both of you.”

“He’s just so...Grantaire, Combeferre. He feels the need to pick apart my arguments every time I open my mouth just for the hell of it.” Enjolras sighed, frustrated. “I don’t even think he believes half the things he says. He just likes to be contrarian.”

“But his arguments strengthen yours, don’t they?” Combeferre asked. “You took into account some of things he said for your last speech and that went well. He caught some of the holes in your logic. You yourself told me that.”

“I wish he didn’t do it in such an infuriating way,” Enjolras grumbled.

“I suppose that’s Grantaire for you.” Combeferre chuckled. “Why don’t I make hot chocolate for us? Once you calm down, you can go back and work things out with Grantaire like an adult. Alright?”

“Alright.” Enjolras cracked a smile. “Thanks, Ferre.”

“Of course.”

* * *

 

“You are so lucky you didn’t get arrested,” Courfeyrac said, on the Saturday after the rally.

“Again,” Combeferre corrected, continuing to check Enjolras for injuries. “He’s lucky he didn’t get arrested again.”

Enjolras grinned. “Who cares about my record? The riot will bring more attention to our cause. The more people who know about the wealth gap, the better.”

“Yes, and it’s because of that wealth gap that we can’t afford to keep bailing you out,” Combeferre chided, lightly pressing on one of Enjolras’ ribs, to which the blond stifled a wince. “Your ribs are definitely bruised, maybe fractured. It’s hard for me to tell.”

“They’re fine,” Enjolras said dismissively.

“Wow, you look like shit,” said a voice from the doorway.

“Thank you for your input, Grantaire.” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“No problem.” Grantaire strolled into Combeferre and Jehan’s room and took a seat on the bed next to Courfeyrac. “Joly and Bossuet told me that the rally went south, so I wanted to inspect the damage for myself. I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I, Apollo?”

“Don’t call me that.” Enjolras glared.

“It’ll probably be on the news later, if you want to see poor Enj over there get his ribs broken or whatever they are,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m just glad no one got arrested this time.”

“‘This time?’” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Yup. How many times have you been arrested, Enj?”

“Two or three. Mostly for bullshit reasons like ‘disturbing the peace’ or ‘protesting without a permit.’ Assholes.”

“Oh my god,” Grantaire mused. “My roommate is a felon. My mother would have a heart attack.”

Enjolras groaned. “I’m not a felon.”

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Grantaire,” Combeferre said. “Enjolras has injured his ribs, so make sure he doesn’t strain himself too much.”

“Got it,” Grantaire replied.

“I’m not an invalid,” Enjolras protested. “Really, Combeferre. I’ll live.”

“I never said you’re an invalid,” Combeferre said. “You’re just grounded.”

“You’re grounding me.”

“Yes, I am.”

Enjolras let out a sound that was something between a whine and a protest as he leaned forward and rested his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. Suddenly, he was exhausted, and his chest ached. His friend’s shoulder seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to take a nap.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid, no worries.” Grantaire smiled amiably. “You won’t have to bail him out anytime soon.”

Enjolras flipped him off.

* * *

 

About a week later, there was a knock at Combeferre’s door. He put down the book he was reading down and got up to answer it. Standing in the hallway was Enjolras, his face carefully blank.

“Come in,” Combeferre offered, stepping to the side for him. It was unusual for Enjolras to knock, and Combeferre frowned, concerned. “What’s going on?”

Enjolras closed the door behind him as he stepped inside. “I just got off the phone with Larmarque’s wife.”

Oh.

Lamarque had been Enjolras’ favorite teacher in high school. He taught political science, and encouraged Enjolras to go farther in pursuing a law degree. Enjolras often stayed after class to talk with him about anything, from current events to how their lives were going. They kept in touch after Enjolras graduated, but Lamarque was diagnosed with cancer several months later and wasn’t expected to last very long.

“Is everything alright...?” Combeferre asked quietly.

Enjolras shook his head.

“He’s gone, Combeferre.”

“Enjolras, I’m so sorry,” Combeferre said. He’d had Lamarque as a teacher himself, but they weren’t nearly as close as he and Enjolras. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I...yeah.” Enjolras kept his voice even, although Combeferre knew him well enough by now to know when he was forcing himself not to cry or betray his emotions. “I’m just...I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“You’re entitled to be upset about this, you know,” Combeferre said gently. “He was practically a father figure to you.”

He figured it wasn’t much, but Combeferre opened his arms as an offer for a hug. After hesitating for a few moments, Enjolras finally took him up on the offer. He kept his arms loose around the other man, mindful of his ribs, but it was enough to give Enjolras something to hold onto.

Enjolras didn’t cry. Silent streams of tears rolled down his cheeks, but he never outright sobbed. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before Enjolras sniffled once and pulled away. His eyes were red and his face was pale, but he looked otherwise alright.

They would get through this.

* * *

 

Of all things Combeferre expected when he knocked on Enjolras’ door about a week from Christmas, being greeted by his friend in a skirt was not one of them.

Granted, he had no problems with men wearing women’s clothes- people could do what they wanted, after all, and an article of clothing didn’t have a gender. Still, he’d never seen Enjolras crossdress before, so the sight had surprised him quite a bit.

“Um,” he said, “hello.”

“Hey,” Enjolras said nonchalantly. “Can I help you? Grantaire’s at some sort of art gallery for an extra credit assignment or something like that, and I have no idea where he put that moth book you lent him. I saw him using it for his painting yesterday, though.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about the rally on Friday, but I’m going to ask about the skirt first.”

“Oh, this?” Enjolras looked down. “It’s my sister’s. I’m having dinner with my father tonight.”

It was no secret that Enjolras and his father didn’t get along well. They were just too similar in different ways. Enjolras was completely devoted to his causes, and his father, to his work. His father was also a fairly conservative, old money man, which set up some conflict with his far more liberal son. Naturally, Enjolras went out of his way to irritate his father as much as possible to make a statement.

“Ah, right, I forgot.” Now that he thought about it Combeferre remembered Enjolras mentioning something about that earlier in the week. “For Christmas, I assume?”

“Yeah, since he’ll be in Germany on business or something like that.” Enjolras wrinkled his nose, clearly not looking forward to the meeting. “I was just heading out, actually. Walk with me?”

They walked together to the rather upscale restaurant, which was a few blocks from campus. Surprisingly, Enjolras didn’t get too many sideways glances or odd looks, despite how he was dressed. Maybe it was because people simply didn’t care enough to make a comment, or they assumed he was a woman. Regardless, Enjolras was more than ready to verbally annihilate anyone who said anything derogatory.

When they arrived, Combeferre gave Enjolras a pat on the arm. “Behave, alright?”

“When do I not?” Enjolras smiled innocently and walked inside.

Later, he told Combeferre that he’d gotten into yet another fight with his father, and the man didn’t really appreciate his son’s new wardrobe. But it was worth it, he said. It was more than worth it. And now, he had even more energy for the upcoming rally.

* * *

 

The summer after he graduated from college, Enjolras’ stepsister was married. The groom was actually Courfeyrac’s roommate; they were introduced when Enjolras invited her to come to one of their social justice meetings at a local café called the Musain. He was an awkward fellow with more freckles than even Jehan, but he was a gentle young man who loved Cosette more than anything. Enjolras found that he couldn’t really complain, even if he did like Napoleon.

The ceremony itself went wonderfully; Marius looked like he was about to faint up until Cosette walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand with her father. She was absolutely radiant, and Marius’ smile only lit up the room more. And Enjolras found himself smiling, too.

Cosette had insisted upon inviting all of their friends to the wedding, even the ones she wasn’t as close with. So that was how Enjolras found himself staring at Grantaire laughing at a table across the room with Feuilly.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, amused. “You’re staring.”

“I am not!”

He wasn’t amazed at how well Grantaire cleaned up, oh no. It wasn’t the suit, either. And it certainly wasn’t the way he threw his head back when he laughed. If he was being honest with himself, he might’ve had a feeling other than annoyance for Grantaire for a while now, but Enjolras wasn’t exactly good at feelings.

“You’re allowed to talk to him, you know,” Combeferre offered. “I’m sure Grantaire wouldn’t mind.”

Enjolras gave Combeferre a look. He didn’t do smalltalk unless it was about politics, and smalltalk usually didn’t involve politics. And if he brought up politics around Grantaire, then this was going end rather poorly.

“He won’t bite,” Combeferre added, noticing the expression Enjolras had on his face. “Go on. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Biting his lip, Enjolras nodded. He crossed the room briskly and tapped on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Ah, Enjolras.” Grantaire turned in his seat and grinned. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Dance with me,” Enjolras said. It came out like more of a question than a statement, and he could swear that Grantaire would be able to hear his heart beating out of his chest.

Grantaire’s expression went to one of complete and total shock. “What?”

“Dance with me,” Enjolras repeated, a little more sure of himself this time. “That is, if you want to.”

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire breathed. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know. Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you twice if I wasn’t. I, ah, don’t know how to dance, though.”

“That’s okay.” Grantaire exchanged a look of disbelief with Bahorel and stood up. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was actually happening or not. He looked at Enjolras as if he was afraid he might disappear. “I do.”

Their dance was awkward- Enjolras had absolutely no idea what he was doing, even with Grantaire guiding him through it. He kept stepping on the other’s feet and apologizing, to which Grantaire simply told him not to worry about it. It was far from perfect, but Enjolras wasn’t complaining.

“Look at that,” Courfeyrac swooned, coming back over to Combeferre from the bar with a glass of wine in his hand. He sniffled melodramatically and dabbed at his eye with his sleeve. “Our baby’s all grown up and dancing with boys.”

Enjolras and Grantaire just kept smiling at each other, even after their dance had ended. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something after all.

* * *

 

“How do I look?” Enjolras asked, straightening his tie out for the fifteenth time in three minutes. “Presentable?”

“You look fine, Enjolras,” Combeferre said assuringly. “You have the ring?”

“In my jacket pocket.”

“And here I thought you didn’t believe in marriage,” Combeferre teased.

“I don’t,” Enjolras explained. “But it’s important to him, and this entire relationship has been about compromises. I’ll manage. Besides, we’re in a committed relationship as-is.We’ll just get the license down at city hall if he says yes, I doubt he’d want a formal ceremony anyway.”

“He’ll say yes,” Combeferre replied. “You two have been together for years, Enjolras.”

“I know, I know, but what if he doesn’t?” Enjolras paced around the room some more, as he had been for the past several hours. “God, I shouldn’t be this worked up, I don’t even believe in this sort of thing. But this is for him, and-”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted. “Grantaire will say yes. Now go, or you’re going to miss your reservation.”

“Right, right, the reservation.” Enjolras ran a hand through his hair quickly and then gave Combeferre a hug. “Thanks, Combeferre.”

Combeferre smiled. “You’re welcome.”


End file.
